Page 1 of Bloom: Part 1

PROLOGUE

CROWE

“Oh, fuck.”

Winter, standing behind me, stumbled back from the gruesome sight in the small shed we’d found on the property. Saint emptied his stomach on the grass. Bile rushed into my mouth, acrid and burning, but I swallowed it down. If I gave in like Saint, I wouldn’t be able to stop.

“Jesus Christ.”

Another time, I would have laughed at Saint, tough biker that he was, bent over puking his guts out. Winter had gone pale, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He had his hand over his nostrils to ward against the stench of death that had almost knocked us off our feet.

Over the years, we’d helped our fair share of men into the afterlife. We did what we had to in order to survive, and death was a part of that survival. All of us in the Bloodlets motorcycle club were used to it.

What we weren’t used to was the sign of life packaged as a scrawny child smeared from head to toe in blood. Literally.Blood matted his blond hair, streaked his face, and covered his naked body.

At the sudden bright light, the child looked up. He stared at me with vacant green eyes that were too big in his angular face. Was he blind? He didn’t react at all, just gawked for a full minute, then dropped his gaze to one of the two mangled bodies lying next to him on the ground.

He pulled a large knife out of the body with a slight sucking noise, holding the weapon in two hands as if it weighed a ton. His hands were slick with blood, as was the handle of the knife.

What the…

The boy shoved the knife into the body repeatedly in a rhythm that seemed practiced. My stomach revolted, and I turned my head to the side to spew out the acidic taste of beer—the only thing I’d had to drink today.

“What the fuck, Crowe?” Winter whispered. “That’s not…normal.”

A groan came from Saint, who leaned weakly against the side of the shed. “Yeah, that’s… fuck.” He gulped in air and closed his eyes.

Just what the fuck had we walked into? My father, the president of the Bloodlets, had given us a simple task—to round up Jaws, who’d swindled money from him. When he didn’t answer the front door, we’d searched the property, and our noses had led us to the shed in the back.

From the bloodied cut similar to the one I wore, my father wouldn’t be getting his money at all. I winced as the knife hit bone. The boy pulled with all his might and toppled over onto his back when the blade slipped free.

“We gotta get him out of there,” I said in a low murmur to not startle him.

“He ain’t normal, Crowe. Leave him be.”

Nothing about the situation was normal, but that vacant look in the boy’s eyes was too familiar. I could have been him had I not had Winter as a rock when I was younger.

There was no way I could leave him there. And the bodies… I could see it now. At best, they would put him in a psychiatric facility for the rest of his life.

“I’m going in.”

“Crowe, listen, man, this is bigger than us,” Saint said.

“Your mother’s a damn psychiatrist, Saint. You should know better.”

He dropped his gaze, as he should. Unlike the rest of us, Saint came from a decent home. While we were jaded, he should have been hopeful for the child. He was so tiny. I slowly walked into the shed, my boots crunching on the dirt floor. Flies circled the corpses, so the couple must have been dead for several hours at least.

Unable to take the stench, I shook out a bandanna and tied it around the lower half of my face. I averted my gaze from the bodies full of stab wounds and severed flesh and concentrated on the boy who’d climbed to his knees. He crawled over to what looked like the body of a plump woman and raised the knife.

Fuck no.

“Hey, there,” I said with more calm than I felt.

He swung his head around. He blinked rapidly, his eyes darting from the corner of the room to me.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Hands held up so he could see them, I stepped over the corpse closer to me. My boot hit something. A severed finger.Oh god.“They were bad people, weren’t they? You did nothing wrong.”

For all I knew, Saint was right, and this child was Lucifer reborn, but I would bet my Harley against it. That dead look in the boy’s eyes had a reason behind it. So did the graphic sight before me.

---